Tomorrow it will be the same.

I woke up whis-per-ing your name.

Tomorrow it will be the same.

Opening my eyes comes easy . . .

[Smile. I’m writing this word: “Cheesy”.]

Battered, burnt, and black and blue,

I’m taking hits, but not from you.

You are part of saving grace

that’s unadorned with mortal lace.

A beauty beyond bounds of time,

without a doubt within all rhyme,

across all seas, the deserts dry,

the coldest season wondering why?


It doesn’t have to be this way, but as I said it’s “come what may.”


I woke up whis-per-ing your name.

Tomorrow it will be the same.

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